


Saboteur (hiatus)

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), infinity war - Fandom
Genre: Bachelor AU, Other, Tensions rise, a little ooc, based on a tumblr post i made, one (1) person asked for a fic so im writing one, oops! It’s kind of angsty, stephen is very vindictive, tagged other bc not really relationship, these losers are about to brawl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: Stephen frequently uses his magic to sabotage Steve whenever he gets the chance. Steve about to make a move on tony? Actually? No, no he's not; Stephenjustopened a portal with his sling ring. Not anymore. Steve getting some milk? Suddenly he doesn’t care about the rules of time anymore and oh, Steve? Your milk is spoiled. Steve out for a jog? Not anymore. Good luck finding your way out of the mirror dimension. Stephen almost forgets him in there for like a week until Tony says something.





	Saboteur (hiatus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast has never been so intense.

Stephen was immensely satisfied as he watched milk spill over Steve's head. 

The poor man had only wanted cereal, Strange supposes. But he can't forget who holds the cards at any point in time. And, well, it is just so _satisfying_ to watch the emotions flitting across his face.

A smile splits his own as he watches Steve's face darken, milk still pouring down in thick rivulets. His portal is still throwing sparks all around his bland-looking cereal, scattering an orange glow across him. "Stephen," he says calmly, his voice not nearly matching his incredibly infuriated expression, "you should close the portal now."

"Maybe you should stop pouring the milk," Stephen suggests coyly, delighting when the carton empties out anyway. "oh, never mind. It would seem you have wasted it all." His gaze flits back from the carton to Steve's malignant face, twitching subtly at the corners of his mouth and the front of his eyebrows. He lets out a tsk, a perfect picture of innocence as he says, “Tony won’t be happy about that.”

His expression, Stephen notes, shifts marginally. He still looks only mildly peeved to the outside observer— who wouldn’t be, when doused with milk?— but to Stephen, his feelings are projected loudly. Eyebrows still furrowed, mouth pressed in a thin line; he’s _seething._

Strange snorts. Nice to see the tables turned for once.

Stephen was never quite as close to Tony as Steve was. They had bonded, certainly, over... the event that occurred early in the year. But Strange had been put at a disadvantage. Tony had not appreciated his “sacrifice.” He always knew, in a way, that fate and destiny demanded he be kept alive. Tony served a purpose of which he did but didn’t know, a purpose of which Stephen saw attempted and aborted nearly fourteen million times.

To know this is different than accepting this. He resents Stephen just a little for what he said right before watching his boy (his boy, too, for he had fallen in love with him fourteen million times) disintegrate in arms. (“The only way,” Tony had said, voice breaking in abject frustration. “you saw _fourteen million_ ways. Why that one, Strange? I’m not going to throw a pity party for myself. That would imply I’m worth pitying. But now I have a sixteen year old boy who cries at night because he remembers what it’s like to die.” And when Tony looked him in the eyes, he felt the breath yank out his chest, pushing a guilty, feeble, “that really was the only way,” out along with it.)

He resents Stephen for reminding him that there is truly no choice in what he does. Tony’s a puppet. They all are. Characters in a story, one might say, written with an idealistic ending. Stephen saw that in the future too, though not past it, so he is at a loss for how to deal with it.

A relationship between them, luckily enough, is not a deciding factor for the fate of the universe, only something that Stephen wants badly.

Steve didn’t remind Tony of that, and it’s not as if they never had squabbles they got over anyway. He misses Steve. Stephen knows that far too well. He saw the old phone with only one number. Tony’s not the sentimental type, so Stephen assumes he wouldn’t have kept the phone if he was truly angry. Whether Tony knows it or not, he wants familiarity, of which Steve can provide.

They fought, they made up again, they fought. 

Stephen and Tony had chemistry.

Steve and Tony had _history._

Maybe that’s why he relishes this so much, he muses. if it doesn’t work out in the end, at least he drove Steve up the wall doing it.

Speaking of, Steve is staring at him.

“Were you saying something?” Strange grins wolfishly, leaning back idly in his seat. 

He stares harder and Stephen begins to feel a little unnerved. “I asked you what you get out of this exactly.” Steve’s eyes narrow infinitesimally again. 

He shrugs. “It’s funny to watch you squirm.”

“That’s not it.” Steve snaps.

“So you’d like to believe.” He spits back, faster than fire. His shaking hands spark with energy.

“You like Tony,” he says, voice low and deep, which in any other context would have been as intimidating as it is finalizing. But he’s covered in steadily drying milk, so his-question-not-question is dulled in its effect.

“Congratulations,” he says scathingly with a grand sweep of his shaky, _shaky_ hands. “you’re a genius. Truly, you are. My supposed plot of being in this for the money has been quite thoroughly exposed. We’re in a TV show where the objective is to woo Stark, _soldier._ I would hope I liked him to some degree.” Somehow, his voice manages to drip with more sarcasm and poorly concealed malice than he thought he could possibly have in him. (On that note, he doesn’t _hate_ Steve. Only obstacles and infuriatingly handsome blonde soldiers who want to keep their ex-boyfriends all to themselves.)

He stares again, and Stephen feels the intensity in his eyes prick at his nerves.

The silence is grand. He goes to fill it. “You’re quite different off camera.”

“You’re much of the same.” Steve replies easily, but the tension in his shoulders as he wipes milk off his face is telling in and of itself. His eyelashes flutter, dark and thick, obscuring his eyes only a little. It’s only a little unnerving ( _irritating,_ Stephen, _irritating_ ) to not be able to see them.

Stephen wills his hands to calm. He can’t show any weakness, not like this. Lounging back in the most relaxed position possible will only make it obvious if he draws in closer. No fear, Stephen. He faced Dormamu. He can face a hundred year soldier in _spandex._

Steve stares at him again and Stephen fidgets. He suddenly looks so _tired._ His lips are still pressed tight, turned down at the corners into a thin frown. Eyebrows still furrowed, clutching his poor bowl (no longer suffering from a plethora of magical energy) hard enough to turn his knuckles white. But when Steve stares at him... wow. He finally understands that eyes are the windows to the soul, and his feels bared wide open on an icy winter day.

...Stephen almost feels bad.

Steve has never been an expert at picking people apart. At least he never verbalizes it. He’s more of a support kind of guy, but damn if he isn’t perceptive. Stephen wills himself to look flippant.

Stephen feels ready to snap if Steve says _anything else._

So he does the right thing, and he shifts the portal from over the bowl to under it, watching the now slightly soggy bowl of cereal hit Steve directly on top of his head and splatter it’s contents everywhere.

It’s a glorious shower of sopping wet cereal sliding down in thickish gobs down his head and a clattering of dry cereal scattering around the room.

And when Steve lets out a snarl faster than he can bite down on it, Stephen smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’ll be more lighthearted soon! But they won’t stop picking each other apart, naturally.


End file.
